Nightstroke
by allismine
Summary: -AR- Even still, in my condition, the look he gave me was as cold as stone. EdwardBella. Twoshot, both taking place during the first book.
1. Dusk

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Chapter One: Dusk

**Disclaimer:** _"Twilight", and all canon characters and characteristics remain the property and rights of Stephanie Meyer. All I own is the writing itself, and any original features and / or attributes portrayed within said writing._

**A/N:** The moment I read this scene, my alternate-reality-obsessed mind ran away with me and I decided to get some first-person narration practice in. Apologies if this idea's been done before. The second chapter will justify everything, so please don't stone me or jump to any conclusions until you read it. :3 Thanks!

I--I

It was warm.

I couldn't tell if either the fluorescent bulbs above me or the sunshine outside was to blame, but I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, seeing nothing but red thanks to the insanely bright lighting overhead. Right now, the only details I could remember about the accident was the shock I felt seeing a vehicle on black ice skidding in my general direction, and Tyler's horrified expression as he ran out of his car to help me. In spite of the fact that everything else was pretty much a blur, I recollected enough to realize I must've been in the hospital, silently appreciating the fact I wasn't hit with some spontaneous case of amnesia, the kind wakening coma patients on low-budget soap operas always got.

I smirked, never thinking I'd appreciate the fact that life wasn't like what it was on television.

I looked down at myself. I didn't seem to be in too bad of a shape, seeing as I didn't feel much pain when I woke up. I was in a neck brace, my wrist was in a cast, and I had one serious migraine, but overall I was doing just fine. Still breathing. Still alive. The beeping of the electrocardiogram was a reminder that my heart was still beating.

Knowing the word 'electrocardiogram': now there's something I can blame television for.

Feeling tense all of a sudden, I straightened my back, raising my free arm to stretch out and loosen up a little. I wriggled my extremities in the process, mentally making sure all my digits were intact and that I hadn't suffered any emergency amputations while I was under. Ten fingers, certainly, but oddly enough, I...couldn't move my toes.

I blinked, glancing down at myself again. My feet were sticking out from under the bottom edge of the hospital-blue blanket covering me, all toes present and accounted for. Of course, there was a perfectly reasonable medical explanation for this. Maybe I was sitting out in the cold longer than I thought before the medics arrived. Maybe I sprained them the wrong way when I landed on the asphalt. Probably just some nerve aftershock, or whatever. Something temporary, or at the very least, reversible.

I tried moving them again, but to no avail.

I could already hear a voice of misplaced optimism in my head trying to calm me down, but it wasn't a mistake. This didn't feel at all like the dull sensation from being out in the cold too long, or the sharp sting of a bad sprain, or having a part of myself fall asleep. _I couldn't feel my feet_. I couldn't feel anything whatsoever! I--I couldn't move my ankles, o--or my knees...I couldn't feel my legs _at all_!

It was one terrifying, undeniable truth.

I was completely numb from the waist down.

The wave of fear which washed over me made me feel as if I'd just been tossed into a pool of ice water.

_This can't be happening._

My heart began racing in my ears, pounding harder and louder than ever before. My eyes widened nervously, hopefully, as I tried harder and harder to get anything I could moving. Inhales became short, exhales became shallow. I can't remember exactly how many breaths I took before I screamed.

How in the world was I supposed to live like this?! What would mom think? Would she make me come home? What about Charlie? I'd be nothing more than a burden to anyone now! And Tyler...Tyler would probably kill himself if he ever found out about what had happened to me! Who's to say he doesn't already know? Of course, how could he not know? News spreads like wildfire in this backwater town--I was unconscious for deity knows how long; the entire town probably knew about this before I did!

The thoughts, the questions, the on-setting depression; none of it stopped, not even for a second. Everything in my head was swirling around, over and over, until I felt as if I was about to be sick.

For a second, I felt like blaming him. Tyler. If he'd been paying better attention to the roads, if he'd chained his tires, if he'd been a better driver...but then, of course, he didn't mean for any of this to happen. This was a complete accident, not unlike what my constant clumsiness resulted in.

I probably would be less accident-prone now that I was going to be stuck in a chair for the rest of my life.

I slammed my head back into the pillow, burying my face into my hands and running my fingers through my hair. Just like that, everything I believed my life to be, gone in an instant. The stress about the move, the terrible weather, the varying levels of apathy I felt towards everyone in school, meant nothing. Everything I was worried about before this moment was suddenly so trivial compared to what I was going through now.

The doctor went on to explain the technicalities of my injuries through line after line of medical jargon. I hadn't even realized he'd entered the room. I didn't care for any of it. The phones at the hospital's front desk were ringing loudly; the busy nurses were darting back and forth through the hallway and weaving in and out of neighboring rooms. The sun was still shining, the snow was still falling, the birds were still singing. It was as if the world was moving on and I was stuck in time.

My vision flickers to a figure suddenly present at the doorway.

Edward Cullen.

His face was twisted, brow furrowed, nose crinkled in utter disgust at the sight of me.

Even still, in my condition, the look he gave me was as cold as stone.

I turned away from him sharply, determined to put all my effort into staring at the back of the doctor's clipboard. I stopped making excuses. I didn't bother to give him the benefit of the doubt this time. 'Maybe he doesn't _know_ about the results of my accident. Maybe it's not _me_ he's repulsed at.' Bullshit. I didn't think anyone could be so ugly on the inside, not even him. How could he have looked at me like that? How could he treat me with the same disdain as the first time I met him? Had he no sense of empathy, of human decency at all?

I didn't even bother trying to hold back the tears anymore.

An emotion I hadn't expected was engulfing my entire being. Anger. Unadulterated, incontrovertible, anger. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want anyone here. I didn't want some stranger in a lab coat trying to console me with technical explanations. I didn't want _that boy_ standing at the doorway, staring at me with such loathing. I was sick of trying to figure out what was going through that mind of his. I was tired of trying to solve his puzzle. I suddenly felt absurdly foolish to be concerning myself with someone like him, someone who could vary from sociable to antithetical with the inexplicable color-shift of an eye. Someone who could just _stand_ there and _stare_.

Stupid hormones. Stupid teenage curiosity. I was just a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush, and only now could I see it.

I couldn't bring myself to listen. Not to the high-pitches of active telephones, or to the faint sound of singing birds, or to the doctor's long-winded descriptions of unfeeling nerves and broken vertebrae. All I could focus on were _his_ eyes on _me_, and I wasn't about to turn away and shyly back down. Not like I used to. Not anymore.

Probably realizing I hadn't been paying attention this last fifteen or so minutes, the doctor rose to his feet with a heavy sigh and took his leave from the room.

Without warning, _he_ entered.

And I felt cold again.

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	2. Dawn

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Chapter Two: Dawn

**A/N:** Second half of the story! :D I'm not entirely sure if I (sh/c)ould continue this, because my knowledge of Twilight canon is not as extensive as that of the average fanfic writer's, so please be sure to let me know if you believe this fic is worth the studying needed to continue. On the other hand, if anyone would like to write anything based on this Alternate Reality plotshot, feel absolutely free to! Credit for the original idea would be nice, but not necessary. Enjoy! x3

I--I

_You could have saved her._

The words echoed through my mind louder than the torrents of those around me, belonging to the horde of worried students and anxious parents idling in the hospital waiting room. I'd been reading them on purpose, of course, for any updates on Bella's condition. It wasn't until I caught Carlisle emerging from the hallway when I flipped through his thoughts and discovered the irreversible had already happened.

_You could have saved her._

Before I realize it, I'm pacing circles inside an empty hospital chamber, where I'd been clenching my fists so tightly crescents formed on the skin of my palms. Needless to say, the day's events had made me anxious, yet the thought of allowing myself to linger in such a state of inexplicable distress only unsettled me further.

_You could have saved her._

I could have pushed her to the sidewalk and disappeared before she knew what hit her. I could have done something, _anything_ to stop the truck in the middle of the road, or directed it to crash into some stationary object a few feet away. I could have shielded her with my body and played it off as if I'd been there all along, feigning an injury or two to save face. It was almost tormenting how easily I could have taken Bella out of harm's way, and even more disturbing considering the fact I did nothing. My selfishness led to her loss. My sense of self-preservation caused her misery.

_There were too many risks involved_, I fiercely tried to convince myself, _there was nothing I could do._

Making physical contact with her could have sent me completely over the edge. Her skepticism could have compromised my secrecy. Anyone involved could have sparked an inquiry based on what they saw--or rather, what they didn't see.

Normally, I wouldn't even begin to count how many times my 'sense of self-preservation' had led to the suffering of others. Why did I feel such guilt over something I _chose_ to place outside of my control? What happened this afternoon was a tragic accident. I was an ordinary human witness standing a hundred yards away; in the eyes of the public, nothing I could have done would have changed what had happened. I wasn't being suspected of anything. I was in the clear.

I questioned why I couldn't forget her, even though I had long since realized the answer.

I _wanted_ to protect her.

I tried to deny it. Oh, how I tried to deny it. What made this human girl any different from the thousands I've come into contact with during my abnormally extensive lifetime? Reason was supposed to take precedence over intention, actions of rationality were supposed to overrule the objections of conscience. The truth of the matter went against everything I believed in, everything I have worked for, everything I had experienced, but it was still as plain as the thoughts in my head.

A scream echoed down the halls from a voice I recognized all too well. I shut my eyes and growled loudly in frustration.

_Maybe_, I remembered thinking, _Maybe if I let her get hurt just once_. Maybe once, and this mistaken slip of composure would go on to correct itself; maybe once, and her well-being would fall from my concern. Yet, this ambitious plan of mine had backfired much worse than I previously anticipated. I'd never felt more wrong about anything I had ever done in the past. There must have been an answer, a solution, some way to reverse what had been done, some way to cure her of this misfortune, some way to relieve myself of this guilt...

...and then it occurred to me.

Her legs were only useless because the rest of her body was still alive.

Hypothetically, it was plausible. The process of becoming a vampire involved a complete metamorphosis of the human body. The venom would spread throughout every nerve and every cell, rebirthing them, transforming them anew. If she survived the process, the problem would be solved.

If she became one of us, she would be able to walk again.

Instantly, I became enraged with myself. What was I _thinking_? There's no way anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to a treatment of such nature; it was barbaric to even _imagine_ placing this affliction, this _curse_ onto another human being.

I stepped outside of the abandoned hospital room and walked at a brisk pace, quietly passing by Bella's open door. Carlisle was already speaking with her, but I could tell from the look on her face she wasn't paying attention to the brand of medical consolation he had to offer. Realizing the futility of his efforts, Carlisle stood up from his chair and walked away, making sure to give me a foreboding glance before he left the room. I didn't have to read his mind to know what he was trying to say. _Don't do anything you'll regret._

It had taken Bella a few moments to realize I'd been standing there. She averted the direction of her glance almost as quickly as she recognized my presence; droplets began trickling down her near-translucent face like raindrops on a pane of glass, her expression still gentle in her suffering.

What was she thinking?

Despite the fact I rejected the proposal with every fibre of my being, I knew what it was I had to do. It was my fault she was like this; therefore, it was her right to be given the choice. Before I could do this, though, it necessitated extreme patience and caution during the execution of my approach. I would have to slowly become acquainted with her in order to learn of her thoughts, and exactly why I couldn't read them in the first place. I might even be able to present her with the decision somewhere down the line, if I find she was the kind of person who would be willing.

I watch her eyes drift back to focus on mine as her expression twists into repulsion, most likely mirroring the look I unintentionally don whenever I catch the slightest hint of her scent. Realizing my blunder, I quickly turn my gaze towards the floor and plan where I'm moving next: close enough for her to hear my voice, yet far enough so her scent wouldn't again overwhelm me to the brink of madness.

Throughout all my planning and foresight, there was only one question which rang clear through my mind. _Would she take it or would she leave it?_

I face the entrance of the room and take a few uncertain steps forward.

There was only one way to find out.

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End file.
